


Part 37: Brian

by oiuytrewq36



Series: Let's Hear It for the Boy [11]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:28:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26836723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oiuytrewq36/pseuds/oiuytrewq36
Summary: Justin comes jogging down the stairs just as I’m hanging up on my last meeting of the day. I hold up a hand as the call shuts off, then say, “What’s up?”He’s oddly flushed, smiling, too. “I just had a couple ideas.”“Wow, almost twice your normal daily amount,” I say, because I’m an asshole, and because he’s kind of adorable when he scrunches up his face in his I-can’t-believe-I’m-in-love-with-you-you-prick expression.
Relationships: Brian Kinney/Justin Taylor (Queer as Folk)
Series: Let's Hear It for the Boy [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1928482
Comments: 9
Kudos: 42





	Part 37: Brian

**Author's Note:**

> This will be my sole reference to the current global viral clusterfuck - I just had this idea the other day and couldn’t resist writing it out.

Justin comes jogging down the stairs just as I’m hanging up on my last meeting of the day. I hold up a hand as the call shuts off, then say, “What’s up?”

He’s oddly flushed, smiling, too. “I just had a couple of ideas.”

“Wow, almost twice your normal daily amount,” I say, because I’m an asshole, and because he’s kind of adorable when he scrunches up his face in his I-can’t-believe-I’m-in-love-with-you-you-prick expression.

He comes over to sit on the couch next to me, legs tucked under him. “I was _thinking_ ,” he says, “we could go down to the Cape for a month or two. There’s a testing clinic near here where we could go to before we leave, and there’s one in Provincetown now too. All your work is online anyway right now, and the house has good internet and a studio, so we could both just work from there, right?”

I look at him. “Fuck, why didn’t I think of that?”

He grins and kisses me on the cheek. “Because you’re bound by the cultural norms of the business sector.”

“Fuck you.”

“Well,” he continues, suddenly looking nervous, “that actually relates to my other idea.”

I frown. “Huh?”

He scoots a little closer to me, looking down. “I realized that today is the twenty-second.”

“Yeah, given that yesterday was the twenty-first.”

He doesn’t even roll his eyes, so now I’m getting worried. “What, did we forget to do something?”

“Not exactly.” He’s still not looking at me, so I put a hand on his shoulder. “We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, okay?”

“Do what?”

He sighs. “Okay. So, today is, um, it’s more than three months since we stopped going out, because the lockdown order was on the twenty-second and we stayed in the week before that too.”

I nod. “Okay...”

Then I realize what he means. “Holy shit.”

Justin looks at me, then, big blue eyes holding some strange mixture of hope and trepidation. “If you want to - and only if you want to - I thought we could go get tested, the whole works, when we go to the clinic to make sure we don’t have the virus before we leave.”

I just look at him.

“I’m not asking you to stop fucking other guys - I don’t even want that, for either of us - but since we’re in ... this ... for the time being, I thought, why not make the most of it?”

I want to answer him, but I can’t, not right away, because the image of taking him bareback, my come running out of his beautiful ass, has taken my brain offline for the moment. 

Justin looks down at my bulging crotch and smirks. “So...”

I grab him, crush him under me, rip his pants down, kiss him as hard as I can while my straining dick rubs against his thigh. “Let’s do it,” I tell him, in between kisses.

He laughs. “Sounds good, but what about my idea?”

I give him a quick little slap for that, plump lily-white ass so firm and hot under my hand, and just the feeling of it, I realize, is enough to make me come in my pants, so I do, teeth in his neck, not caring in the least about how lame it is that I didn’t even last long enough to fuck him, and he crushes his lips to mine and moans into my mouth, grinning.

“I want to do it,” I tell him. “As soon as we can. Fuck, Justin-”

He sighs, quivering in my arms, and I realize he’s coming too, legs tightening around me, cock spurting all over my Louis Vuitton button-down (although I couldn’t care less about that now, and I probably won’t later, either). “I can’t wait,” he breathes, as the tremors start to fade from his limbs. “I want to feel you coming inside me, rimming me afterward, your own come all over your face-”

-and that’s enough of that, I decide (well, my dick decides, really, but Mel did always say that I thought with it and not my brain), swallowing his tongue and whatever other beautiful sinful pictures he was going to draw in my head. He just writhes under me, hands tearing at my clothes, so fucking hot, and I set about making both of us lose our minds.

***

That’s how we end up here, in the California king bed in the P-town summer house, Justin splayed, blushing, edible, underneath me, the head of my condomless cock prodding at his lubed, twitching asshole.

I want to push in, I do, but I can’t, overwhelmed but the enormity of it, of what this means.

Justin smiles up at me - that _smile_ , fuck - and says, “Been a while since we’ve had a first, huh?”

I nod, helpless. As usual, he’s cut right to the heart of it, laid bare all my hopes and dreams and fears in a single sentence.

I kiss his left shoulder, feel his lovely warm skin under my lips, suddenly absurdly swept up in romance. “You’re so beautiful,” I tell him, whisper to him, really.

He strokes my face, that perfect mouth curving into a seductive grin. “Just shut up and put your cock in me, would you?”

I try to grin back, but I have a feeling that my actual expression is closer to a disgusting level of tenderness as I press into his body, feeling his silky tight - oh fucking hell, so tight - heat surround me closer than ever before.

Justin is a work of art, flush creeping down his chest, head thrown back, mouth open, stuffed full of cock and pleading for more. I want so badly to pound him like a fucking freight train, make him come until he’s just a quivering lump of nerve endings, but right now it’s taking everything I have not to shoot my load before I even start moving.

When I think I’ve gotten it under control, I thrust into him, then immediately realize that I’m going to come in about five seconds. “It’s okay,” Justin breathes, looking up at me with so much love and want and affection that I can barely stand it. “It’s okay, we have all the time we want, Brian, just let go.”

It’s the first time in years that I’ve come first while fucking someone, but Justin doesn’t seem to mind, kissing me frantically as I spill inside him, moaning and gasping and rubbing his body against mine. When I get enough of my brain back to see that he’s been holding off, still hard and leaking, I flip him over and lick my come out of his ass while he screams, clenching around my tongue, begging for mercy when I keep devouring him after his orgasm fades, twitching and sobbing with too much sensation.

He’s shaking when I turn him back over, and I realize that I am too, and I can’t stop myself from whispering _I love you_ as he clings to me, drawing shivery breaths and petting at my arms and shoulders with a beautiful dazed look in his eyes.

It’s strange, taking him raw, because it’s so familiar and yet different. Sex with Justin is always fucking fantastic, seeing his smooth pale body dotted with bitemarks, the way he curls up into himself when it’s so good he can’t bear it, and this is ... that, still, but intimate in a new way, intense and messy and ludicrously hot. I fuck him over and over again that first day, hours upon hours of transcendental sex, and he just keeps on taking it, demanding I go harder, rougher, more and more brazen as he gets used to the idea that this is really happening, riding me like I’m his new favorite sex toy, snarling and slamming himself down on my dick, gorgeous, whimpering, gasping, shoving his tongue down my throat, excruciatingly tight as he comes.

After some outrageous number of bone-crunching orgasms, Justin demands his own well-deserved turn at my ass. He rolls me into my back, stretches me open carefully, and then rims me hard enough that I feel tears prick at the corners of my eyes - I hold them back, for the most part, but his tongue is curling inside me and his body looks like a Greek sculpture and I want to let him do things to me that no other man has even dreamed of. He kisses my neck, whispers soft beautiful things as he holds me, and for once I let myself believe his words, believe that I’m the person he sees when he looks at me.

He fucks me hard, the way he tops his tricks, leaving no room for question on his skill, his inhumanely perfect aim. I come twice in a row the first time he does me raw, his big wonderful cock pounding me into pleasure-flavored jelly on the filthy sheets, moaning praise in my ear as he snaps his hips, jackhammering me into happy oblivion. I want to be enveloped by him, made safe and loved forever, and when I resort to whimpered begging he whispers _oh, Brian_ and makes love to me so brutally gently that I want to scream.

When he’s finally too tired to go again, I’m too fucked out to do anything more than lay there, feeling his come drip out of me, while he flops onto my chest, panting. He kisses along the edge of my jaw, drawing involuntary soft desperate noises out of me, and holds me so close to him, spent bodies side-by-side. 

“We should probably go take a shower,” he murmurs, resting one cheek against my neck.

I nod, eyes closed. “Gonna take forever to get the come out of your hair if we fall asleep now.”

“Mhmm,” Justin says, long eyelashes drifting down. I try to wake him back up, but before I can sleep is taking me too, heavy, sweet, and warm.

We wake up stuck together, bruised and sore. Justin giggles madly for fully fifteen minutes after he realizes what’s happened, which makes it very difficult for me to maintain an elegant and stony post-coital demeanor. Instead, I just limp with him to the bathtub, wearing a stupid smile that I couldn’t get rid of if I wanted to, not even caring that we’re a caricature of a romantic comedy. Harry and Sally never got to feel this good, aching asses or otherwise.


End file.
